


The Date

by semaphoredrivethru



Series: Dirty Rotten Scoundrels [5]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: AU, Comment Fic, M/M, Spies, snogging - WHAT?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-10
Updated: 2011-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They think you're my date." Michael didn't seem to be all that bothered by the notion that if a rumor like that got out, he'd have a much more difficult job on his hands. "They think I dragged you here and you're hacked off because you'd rather be back at the hotel shagging, and that's why you've been lurking all night."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Date

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this pic](http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lstxwml0Fn1r2vze3o3_r1_250.jpg) and [this pic](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lstwprbjnh1qi2tsuo1_500.png) and the fact that I've seen _Shame_ twice this weekend and I feel self-indulgent.

They go to Monaco for the weekend. James thought it was ridiculously cliched that he was a spy and working a job in Monaco -- and yes, Michael did instruct him to bring a tuxedo, just in case -- but no one asked him, so James didn't bother to share his opinion. He just drew his shoulders back and watched Michael's back like he was supposed to do. It wasn't as though there was much else going on, after all.

Somehow, James had known in the moment he had dashed off from the most recent conversation that never happened, in the reception hall after Michael's last fundraiser, that he was making a big mistake, but he never could seem to find the right moment to fix things. Not that he was trying all that hard, mind; the idea of ruining what was his longest streak of not fucking on a job (it would be eight months next week, longer than most of James's relationships, actually) made him a bit sick to his stomach. Give him terrorists, bombs, guns, or a car chase on any day of the week, and James could handle it just fine. The idea of actually talking about his feelings, his wants... no. Just no. He just wasn't ready. Wouldn't be really, unless Michael pressed the issue.

Not, mind, that James was going to share _that_ bit of intel.

But so here they were, in Monaco together, their already odd relationship in an even odder sort of limbo between where they had been before things had started to fall apart and the point they'd reached the night of the party, when James had almost climbed right over his employer's toned and slender thighs and kissed him breathless as an answer for all of the questions they'd both been struggling with.

And James was not doing a very good job of recovering from that urge. Especially when Michael would do things so carelessly, artlessly sexy that it made James growl at the sight. The v-necked vest was just shy of too-snug across Michael's shoulders, mostly hidden under his moto jacket as he navigated the terrace, weaving his way through people who hadn't the foggiest notion how close to true power they were brushing on this night. Behind them, the party raged on, some big 'do that Michael had somehow managed to convince James it was absolutely essential they go to. Not that there was all that much old money or power to be had, but James supposed influence was influence, and Michael was anything but foolish enough to pass up a perfectly good opportunity.

Michael clasped an unlit cigarette between his teeth as he fumbled through his pockets for a lighter. James slid in next to him, flipping open his refillable lighter and offering up the flame. They were, rather abruptly, alone in their little corner of the terrace; the nearest party-goer was at least three meters away, far enough that James was acutely aware of their own little bubble of artificial privacy.

"They think you're my date," Michael said without preamble.

"Pardon?" James blinked at him.

"They think you're my date." Michael didn't seem to be all that bothered by the notion that if a rumor like that got out, he'd have a much more difficult job on his hands. "They think I dragged you here and you're hacked off because you'd rather be back at the hotel shagging, and that's why you've been lurking all night."

"Oh, and that's not awkward in the slightest. Thanks so much for disabusing them of the notion."

Michael shrugged, an irritatingly elegant gesture. "It doesn't bother me. Does it bother you?"

"I don't think I should have to answer that."

"No, really, I want to know. I think the hostess's brother is the one who tried to have us killed in Milan a while back, and I'd much rather he not know you could kill him with one hand tied behind your back. Does it bother you, having to play gay with me?"

James didn't bother to hold back his derisive snort. "It's not playing if it's the truth, _Michael_ ," he said. "Is that what you really wanted to know?"

Michael took a long drag of his cigarette, eyes flicking to something over James's shoulder. "Some of it. It'll do for now, though."

And before James could fire back at him, Michael was pulling him in, kissing him. Instinct took over, and James reached up, threading his fingers in Michael's hair, pulling him in closer as their tongues tangled together. Michael groaned as the kiss deepened, his hand sliding under James's jacket, settling in the small of his back like it belonged there, and James just pressed closer, fitting their whole bodies together like puzzle pieces.

He sucked on Michael's lower lip, teeth nipping, and then surrendered his mouth in return to Michael's own explorations, neck going weak with desire when those long fingers kneaded him through his shirt. Distantly, James knew there was something he was supposed to be doing, something he should be worrying about, but he couldn't be fucking bothered to care right then, when his whole world had narrowed to the taste, touch, and sound of Michael Fassbender, kissing him like the world was ending.

"Looks like you're busy there, Mike," someone said. The strange voice shook James, disorienting him and demolishing the moment. "Maybe we should do this some other time?"

Michael cursed, a Russian swear word James had taught him, and pressed their foreheads together for a second. Then he turned to face the hostess's brother, James turning with him to identify who, precisely, it was that he needed to kill.

And in that instant, it all came rushing back to him.

James stumbled back a step, flushed in embarrassment and more than a little anger with himself. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to play the coy boyfriend, but couldn't resist shooting Michael a look that he hoped said everything that needed to be said. _Do you see now? Do you see how I could get you killed so easily?_

"I'll just give you gents some space for business," James said at last, dancing away from Michael's grasp.

And from the look Michael gave him in return, James was pretty sure his message was most assuredly not received.

This was going to end so very badly, James was sure of it.


End file.
